Just Dreams
by AfterAllThisTime
Summary: Ron/Hermione. The war was not the end of the horrors, for they still haunt the trio's everyday lives. Some things are irreversible.
1. Just A Dream

**Prologue**

Tonight was worse than last night. Worse than the night before. Worse than he'd ever seen. She had woken up screaming, as she always did, first just kicking at the sheet around her feet and escalating to the point where she began to lash out, punching and kicking everything in her path and shouting out into the night. He was beside her in a second, leapt from his bed and ran to hers. She'd requested it be that way, that she have her own bed, that he didn't disrupt his own sleep to help her. Just another bad dream, she'd say.

He tucked her hair calmly behind her ears and climbed into the bed beside her, encasing her shaking body in his arms. She was still for a moment, beside the shivering and the heavy breaths. It wasn't over, though, and he could feel it. Her hands fought against his arms in fists, reaching out for the pillow that her head lay on. When he fought back, she gritted her teeth and threw out her legs, bashing them against the wall and the screaming commenced again.

"It's all right," he said soothingly. "It's all right. It's just a bad dream. Remember, Hermione? A bad dream, that's what you call it, that's all it is." He tried to remind her, and she paused for a moment, but it didn't last. Hermione began to mutter odd things, words of plea and begging for mercy. All he could do was hold her tighter and stroke her dark curls gently, trying desperately not to break down himself. He had to stay strong, had to do this for her.

"No. No. PLEASE!" her screams flew threw the air, intertwining and piercing his ears as he stroked her shaking arm. Her whole body was shaking and shivering furiously under his grip.

"Sh, it's okay," he held his hand towards her cheek, to come into contact with the cold tears falling from her sweating face. It was that nightmare. That dream. Hermione wasn't the only one haunted by it, but his dreams couldn't compare in the slightest to hers. He wasn't the one who had been tortured that day, but he had been the one listening to her hopeless wails - knowing that there was nothing he could do, wishing there was. Wishing he had stopped it sooner.

Her body was becoming less tense, her breaths becoming in rhythm with his hand on her cheek. Tears still flowed but the screams began to drown in sobs. The only thing that worsened was the shaking, and as she turned her body to face his she raised her trembling arms to meet his hugs. He pulled her towards him without a second's hesitation, hand tangling in her hair as she cried into his shirt.

"Thank you, Ron," she managed, in a barely audible whisper. But he heard her. She clenched his shirt and tried to push the tears far back, but it was useless. Ron just continued to play with the strands of her hair, distracting her a little.

"Just a dream. Right, Hermione?" he pulled her head away just a little, enough to plant a kiss upon her forehead and see the corners of her mouth tug. Her head returned to his chest and her breathing began to even out. The violent shaking was now feeble shivering, most of the life drained out of her. Ron twirled one of the many loose strands in her hair and stifled a yawn.

"Just a dream," she agreed, and she soon fell asleep in his arms.


	2. Books, Bumps & Butterbeer

**A/N: Hope you like this chapter! Please review, it actually does mean a great deal to me. Plus, I'd like you to tell me what I need to improve on, because I almost stopped myself from uploading this chapter. Hope it's not too long. I'll shut up now.**

Sunlight streamed through the gap in the curtains, the first thing he saw that morning. Ron hesitantly sat up, yawning, and ran his fingers through the messy tangles of ginger hair on his head. Now he remembered what had happened last night. Another nightmare. The worst nightmare yet. But it couldn't get worse, surely, could it? Either way, Hermione wasn't lying next to him. He worried.

Days after nightmares were bad enough as it was. He couldn't bare thinking about what it'd be like today. But she was up, she had already gotten herself up and - by the smell of it - was downstairs cooking breakfast. Without further hesitation, Ron hopped out of his bed and flew down the stairs to the kitchen.

Sure enough, there she stood, her curls pulled back into a ponytail and her body leant over at the stove, the delicious scent of bacon and eggs rising from it. She turned around at the sound of his heavy footsteps, and then Ron saw what was different. Her face was pale, drained of life, and her smile was feeble even with the greatest effort.

"Good morning," he managed, somewhat stunned.

"Hm," she murmured, turning back to the food. There was silence. Nobody knew what to say. "Breakfast is nearly ready. I was just about to come and wake you up, actually..."

"Are you okay?" Ron interrupted. "I mean, you know what I mean, as in..."

"How many eggs would you like?" Hermione ignored his attempt as she pulled two small plates from the overhead cupboard. She liked to do things without magic, it reminded her of who she was and stopped her from being a lazy prat like Ron.

"Two," he answered, taking a seat at the small round table, eyes still fixed on her. "But-"

"It's eleven o'clock, you know," she chimed in. "You're up late. We're supposed to go and visit your parents later, I promised them. So you'd better be up and ready to see them, Ronald."

He took that as his cue to shut up. Hermione rarely called him Ronald any more. He didn't speak again until the food was placed in front of him, and his eyes rose just enough to see the blood. Hermione knew he'd seen, her smile crumbled as she sat opposite him, that drop of blood still falling down her left arm.

"What's up with-"

"I scratched it. In the night," Ron was out of his chair within a moment of the words leaving her mouth, forgetting about the food on his plate.

"Let me look at it," he insisted, drawing back her sleeve to reveal the scar. _Mudblood. _The words were now dripping with blood, as though newly made. Ron rushed to the sink and grabbed a tea towel, running it under the tap before dabbing it over the scar. Hermione winced.

"You don't have to do that."

This time, Ron waved his wand and a bandage was sent flying towards his open hand. He was no good at opening those fiddly Muggle first aid kits. "Hold still," he muttered, wrapping the bandage gently around the now clean scar. He stood back and surveyed it. It wasn't perfect, but he was no healer. Hermione was frowning.

"You know my mum'd fuss if she saw you like that," Ron muttered. "It's best that we've tried to cover it, you know? Plus, it could-could get infected, right? That's right, isn't it, Hermione?"

Hermione nodded, and a genuine grin appeared on her face. Ron stayed stood there for a while, before he realised that his food was still on the table. He rushed back to it, and clared his plate almost instantly.

With a glance at her watch, Hermione suggested that he go get ready. They needed to stop at Diagon Alley first, apparently, and she didn't want to be late. She knew how long Ron took to get changed, and wasn't taking any chances.

By the time he goot back downstairs in his brown woollen jumper and baggy jeans, Hermione was waiting by the door. Her hair was tied back a little tidier now, and she was wearing a shirt and skinny jeans. Ron noticed a bump in her shirt's sleeve and figured she was, even with the bandage to cover it, making an attempt to hide the scar.

"Ready to go?" she asked. "I thought we'd take a trip to Diagon Alley, get some more food and butterbeer to take with us. As a nice gesture. We can't go to dinner empty handed, you know..."

"This is my parents, Hermione. They invited us over, they don't expect-"

She cut him off, pulling him outside the door and into the frosty air. "We're going to Diagon Alley. I need something to occupy myself. I can't just stand around the house all day, I'll go mad!"

This time, Ron nodded and clasped her hand. "Can we apparate?" He looked at her with puppy dog eyes, knowing how much she liked to go in the car wherever they went.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione nodded. "Fine."

Within an instant, they were standing outside the door of the Leaky Cauldron, peering around at the passing Muggles. As per usual, they hadn't noticed a thing. Especially since they had apparated outside the place that everybody seemed to think didn't exist. Funny thungs, Muggles.

They were greeted by the warmth of a fire and the sweet smell of butterbeer wafting through the room, a face here and there turning to look at them as they entered. A few of them recognised the pair, possibly some of the Hogwarts students that fought in the battle. Hermione found herself wondering how many of them had lost lives to the war, wondering how they coped without their brothers, sisters, cousins, children, parents, friends...

"Shall we get a drink?" Hermione suggested nervously, suddenly unsure of her surroundings. But they were, essentially, here to waste time. So why not get a drink, perhaps a bite to eat. After all, it was lunch time.

"Hermione Granger, suggesting we get a drink?" Ron joked. "Aren't you eager to get to the bookstore?"

With a light shove from Hermione, he stopped and cleared his throat. They rotated around the room until finding the perfect spot, a three seated table by a window. All of the two seated tables were taken, or far to crowded by other customers. Not long after they were seated, a bright girl with her familiar blonde hair in a messy bun came bumbling over to their table.

"What can I get you?" There was a jagged scar down her right cheek, only just visible now that she had stepped into the light of the window. It and the dark circles beneath her eyes almost took all the familiarity out of her.

"Hannah?" Hermione asked, registering her looks.

Apparently Ron had noticed now, too. "Blimey."

"That's me!" she laughed half-heartedly, instantly recognising the redhead, yet Hermione wasn't quite as easy. Hannah didn't even nearly look as drained as Hermione, but it was clear that the war had changed her too.

"Two butterbeers, please," Hermione continued, with a side-glance at Ron to check that she had ordered right. In order to be polite, she now had to strike conversation. "So, you're working here?"

Hannah nodded, and then bent down a little so that her face was closer to theirs'. "Actually, I really want to own this place. A lot of good memories are here-" her wide spread smile wavered. "-It's a shame I don't have enough to buy it, really." She shrugged and moved away again, skipping off and out of sight.

Neither of them spoke until the butterbeer arrived. Hannah didn't stay to chat this time, too wrapped up in her work to start a conversation. Instead, Hermione and Ron engaged in something involving ice, blankets and toilet paper. By the time she returned, they were hungry enough to just order food and get it over with.

Unfortunately, Hannah had other ideas. She took her place in the spare seat and began rambling on as though her life depended on it. "My shift's nearly over," she explained. "I'm doing extra hours later. Keeps me occupied!"

Hermione nodded knowingly, and wracked her brain for something to talk about. "We saw Neville recently. He says he's been helping you find a new home."

"Oh, Neville's been really helpful!" Hannah seemed to light up even brighter, if that was possible. "He says he could look into a job as a Healer for me, but I'm not sure that's what I want to do..."

After a few moments of dreamy silence, Hannah took off without notice and their food was served to them several moments later. Once again, Ron emptied his plate in moments and was messing about with the sleeve of his jumper. When they had both finished, and Ron had ensured that he got a piece of cake for dessert, the galleons hit the counter with a clang and they were headed out of the door.

First, of course, was the bookstore. Hermione could've spent hours in Flourish and Blotts, browsing the colourful covers of books and reading snippets of pages. But when she caught sight of one of Ron's yawns, which he failed to stifle, she insisted that they leave and get the butterbeer. He immediately perked up at this and jumped up from his seat in a puffy red armchair, attempting to hide the joyful look on his face.

They were just exiting the front door, Ron's bright hair standing out under the fresh, frosty snow; Hermione's nose glowed pink from the icy air, buried underneath a fluffy brown scarf that mingled with her curls. Two figures bumped clumsily into them, and the four of them each began to appologise until they revealed each other's faces.

"Ron!" the sleepy voice of Bill Weasley, Ron's eldest brother, emerged from beneath his robes, the collars of which were pulled up over his mouth in an attempt to conceal his nose. "I've not seen you in ages!"

The two brothers embraced and Hermione just grinned, looking over the slightly pale, sick looking french girl she had so despised in school. Somehow, as run down and ill as she appeared, she was still startlingly beautiful. Of course, Hermione had gotten over her petty rivalry, but she still resented Fleur somewhat.

"Fleur, it's good to see you. How's the pregnancy going along?" she asked politely, pulling down her scarf to make her voice more audible. Beneath the pale blue winter robes, a small bump was visible. "It's been about three months now, hasn't it?"

"Eet eez painful," she replied simply, holding her stomach. "Uncomfortable."

"You're doing great, though, aren't you Fleur?" Bill held his hand on her back, a proud expression filling up his face. Hermione admired him somewhat - his bravery, his optimistic outlook on every situation. She had never really known much about Bill, with him being part of a large family and never relaly being present at gatherings. However, since the... war, he had come to shine as his own part of the Weasley clan.

"You're going to make great parents," she assured them, and tugged lightly at Ron's sleeve to indicate that they needed to go. It was precisely half past two, and Hermione always liked to get a head start at things.

"We're going to the Burrow later," Ron informed them. "Mum invited us over for tea, you know what she's like-"

"-doesn't know what to do now that Fre-now that nobody's messing the house up for her," Bill finished for him.

"Bet she goes 'round messing it up herself, screaming at walls to get the pots washed," Ron mused, not missing the falter in Bill's sentence but choosing to ignore it, instead shedding light back onto the situation.

"Perhaps we'll see you there?" Hermione suggested.

"Maybe," Bill shrugged, taking his wife's arm and looping it with his own. "We'd better get going. See you later, maybe."

At that, the two couples went their seperate ways. Hermione uttered odd strings of words and something like a shopping list, but Ron wasn't really listening and she knew. Knew that his mind was on other things. Which was exactly why she continued to talk, continued to ramble on about distant things in a feeble attempt to veer his mind away from Fred Weasley's untimely death.


End file.
